


New York Afternoon (too early)

by calerine



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calerine/pseuds/calerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten hours later, Sherlock wakes earlier than Joan and Marcus. Nothing much happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New York Afternoon (too early)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foreignconstellations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreignconstellations/gifts).



> For Pandora who enables my shameless love for threesome things and who is always there. (Creeper love is deeper love.)

The first time - _their_ first time - is them stumbling into bed together, too many limbs in too many inappropriate places and three days with barely any sleep weighing on all of their shoulders.

There is nothing to be done.

Sherlock falls in the middle, curled up instinctively around Marcus, his shoulders and chest a nest for his hands. Marcus (still Detective Bell three days ago, but Marcus now that he’s kissed them both and they’ve pressed their cold hands desperately against his bones) touches Holmes tenderly as he falls asleep, cupping the back of his neck and fitting his face into the curve of his shoulder. Joan wraps herself against Sherlock’s back. She tucks her cold hands around his belly and where his shirt rides up, she holds warm skin.

They sleep for ten hours. Well. Only Sherlock wakes up at ten hours and lies still between Joan and Marcus for eight minutes and forty-seven seconds, counting all the different points when they meet him, where Joan’s forehead rests against the top of his spine and Marcus’ fingertips touch his wrist.

New York has woken up outside their windows, this is not his room. Sherlock blinks. Ah yes. Three twenty-four this morning, they had staggered back to the brownstone, Marcus between the both of them. The killer caught - or rather, found - frozen in a pond at Central Park, the worst possible ending to any chase.

Joan sighs. Sherlock feels it in the way her breasts press against his back, and her arms hold him close. They’re safe now, as safe as one can be in a city of crime. Sometimes Sherlock likes to imagine himself as Batman, but with far more finesse and less melodrama. If he were Batman, then New York would be Gotham and Joan and Marcus would be his Robins.

“Go back to sleep, Sherlock,” Joan mumbles, her warm breaths ghost across his skin and he leans into her lips at the fine hairs of his nape.

Marcus stirs and Holmes reminds himself to stay awake. Keep watch because this is the first time he has been allowed to set eyes on Marcus blinking awake in the weak afternoon sun, and feel his hand curved around his hip, and hear his breath steady in his ear.

“Do you need another painkiller? The doctor said to take one twice a day but I recommend once every six hours. It keeps the - ”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay, Holmes. Stop fussing. Go back to bed.”

“Ten hours of sleep is optimal for my body after our ordeal. I am sufficiently energised and would like to continue combing through the old archives.” Sherlock can feel his body trying to wake up. Closing another case sounds tempting, but so is this here, lying under the covers with Watson and Bell.

Marcus clicks his tongue and Holmes imagines him rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” he relents, settling back. He cups Marcus’ ear gently, kisses him just once but Marcus pulls him back and with his eyes open this time, smooths Sherlock’s hair back and kisses him again. Longer - twenty seconds. Joan reaches over Sherlock and touches Marcus too, runs her fingers down his neck, his side, his ribs, his hips until he lets out a quiet, shuddering exhale.

“I’m okay,” he says again. “I’m fine.”

“Lies,” Sherlock mutters but he closes his eyes anyway. Count all the different points they meet, where Marcus clasps his waist and Joan’s breath warms his neck. Sherlock goes back to sleep.


End file.
